


Seeking Each Other's Eyes

by ChristinMKay



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Asexual Character, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Jon and Tim start out with a very s3 relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Threesome, of the 'i like to watch but not participate' variety, the fears still exist but more in a religious sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 07:42:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30001557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristinMKay/pseuds/ChristinMKay
Summary: “You want me to observe your son throughout the day,” Jon privately noted the way Lady Blackwood flinched at the word son, “and to then paint a portrait of him in secret. I’d like to think myself capable of that.”___As the most talented artist of the Magnus Institute Jon is commissioned to paint a portrait of Martin Blackwood as a gift for Martin's fiance. What at first sounds like a simple job quickly becomes more difficult as Jon meets Martin and his confidant. An intense dynamic filled with secrets, fear, and longing forms between the three men.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 47





	Seeking Each Other's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> My entire personality lately has been reduced to Portrait of a Lady on Fire and tma so I thought why not combine the two. 
> 
> Fair warning: I am not a native speaker and I have dyslexia so there might be some grammar/spelling mistakes apologies for that.

The sun was setting when Jon arrived at the island. The faint pink of the sky was slowly turning into purple, set against the rich, indulgent orange glow of the sun gradually being swallowed by the depth of the blue sea next to the white, chalky cliffs along the coast. Jon just stood on the beach enraptured by the sublime sight in front of him and lost in the swaying sound of the waves gently crashing against the shore. 

Maybe he would have time to paint this spectacle one evening, Jon hoped. But he knew that even someone as talented as himself would never fully capture the beauty of this moment in time.

A shiver overcame Jon, just as quickly as the sun was sinking the night air grew more and more chill. With a sigh Jon hoisted his canvases and his bag on his shoulders and looked up to the cliffs where the  _ Manoir Bois Noir  _ stood tall and uninviting. It would be a long climb up, Jon thought and started to walk.

By the time he reached the front door of the manor night had fallen and Jon was shaking. The hot June air that had made London almost insufferable stuffed when Jon had left, apparently did not reach Brittany. Jon dearly wished he had packed warmer clothes. It didn’t help that his coat and trousers were clammy from the water and Jon could feel the salt drying on his skin. Oh how he wished for a hot bath. 

Exhausted he knocked on the door. The man who appeared behind the door was only illuminated by the weak light of the candle he was holding, but Jon could make out that the man’s face was very handsome. 

“You’re dripping,” the man greeted him flatly. 

“My canvases fell overboard,” Jon explained, “I had to jump into the water to get them.”

The other man nodded, seemingly content with the explanation and stepped aside to let Jon in. The inside of the house wasn’t much warmer than the outside, but at least Jon was safe from the sharp blades of the wind that had dug in every bit of his exposed skin while he had stood outside. 

“So you are Jonathan Sims then,” the man made a motion for Jon to follow him and led him up a wide staircase. 

“Just Jon please,” he said as he looked around the staircase, trying to make out the house. But with the small flame of the candle as the only source of light it was impossible to see anything. Jon waited for the other man to introduce himself, but he just remained quiet. He led Jon through several long hallways before stopping in front of a tall wooden door. 

“Here is your room,” is all he said. 

“Thank you,” Jon put his hand on the doorknob. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Timothy Stoker, but you may call me Tim. At your service,” he did a little curtsy, but his tone remained strained. “Once you have dried up, find me in the kitchen, there is still some dinner left.” 

And before Jon could say anything else, Tim had turned around and left. Jon wondered why the other man seemed to dislike him. Maybe it was because Tim carried a mark of the One Who is Unknown. Of course then the presence of a follower of the Beholding would make Tim uncomfortable. Jon decided not to take it personally and grabbed the candlestick hanging on the wall next to his door before entering his room.

The room was surprisingly big, but only filled with a bed, several crates and an isle. With an exhausted sigh Jon put down his canvases and his bag before hurrying to turn on the fireplace. 

For a moment Jon basked in the glowing heat of the fire, letting the warmth of it wander through his sore muscles. Then he stripped out of his clothes into his undergarments and quickly changed into a nightshirt. Next he took the canvases out of their wooden boxes to estimate how much they had been damaged by their encounter with the ocean. Pleasantly surprised Jon noted that the wooden boxes had done a decent job at protecting the canvases and he would be able to paint on them without any problem. 

He put them out to dry when his stomach started to rumble. Glad that Tim had mentioned dinner, Jon made his way to the kitchen. While anyone else would have been lost in the huge manor with all it’s hallways and passages and dim lighting, Jon, led by the Beholding, found the kitchen instantly. 

If Tim was surprised he didn’t show. Instead he just nodded towards the bench and the table placed in the middle of a kitchen. As Jon sat down Tim placed a plate with cheese and bread in front of him. 

“Would you like some wine,” he asked as Jon hungrily dug into the food. 

“Yes, please,” Jon mumbled, his hand lifted in front of his full mouth. His grandmother would have chastised him for those bad table manners. But Jon was too exhausted and too hungry to care. 

Tim grabbed two glasses filled with red wine and put them on the table before sitting down across from Jon.

“If I may be so curious, but what is your young Master like?” Jon asked as he took a sip of the wine. 

Tim took a sip of wine too, before answering. 

“He is...kind,” he eventually said. His eyes were fixed on the hardwood table as he spoke. 

It was not an outright lie. The young Master Blackwood seemed to be a kind person, but it was not what Tim truly thought of him. Most people would not have even caught the lie, especially with Tim being marked by the One Who Is Unknown. Plenty of Jon’s colleagues from the institute probably would have taken it for the truth. But Jon was highly favoured by the Beholding and so he noticed the bittersweet taste of a half truth on his tongue. 

He could have asked again, prodded, even compelled Tim to find out his true feelings on the young Master Blackwood. But unlike his Master Jonah Magnus, Jon was not a cruel man and he respected the privacy of others. 

Jon found that there were more ethical ways to worship their God. Jon’s method clearly had come to fruition as, despite having served the Beholding for over half a century by now, Jonah’s powers had never measured up to Jon’s, not even at the very beginning of Jon’s apprenticeship. 

Some evil tongues at the institute had conspired that Jon was only so talented because he had been touched by the Weaver at a young age. Driven by envy and spite they had started the rumour that Jon was receiving gifts from both entities and performing a dual worship. Having been touched by more than one God was nothing unusual, but giving your devotion to more than one was not just highly illegal, it was a traitorous insult to your God. 

Of course the rumors were false, Jon would never betray the Beholding. Especially not for the Weaver. If anything the touch the Weaver had left on Jon as a child had led to Jon growing weary and resentful of the Weaver.

Still people believed the rumors over Jon’s own word. It of course did not help that the Weaver had his own guild of a highly talented artist and a workshop on Hilltop Road in Oxford. People saw Jon as a secret spy on top of him being a traitor. And so the animosity for Jon had only grown.

“Have you known him long?” Jon continued to ask once he had finished his meal. 

“Since we were children,” Tim took Jon’s empty plate and started rinsing it. “But I have not seen him for the past five years.” 

Jon drank the last bit of wine and got up to rinse it next to Tim. He was neither entitled to, used to, or in want of Tim serving him like he did with the Blackwoods. He was just as much the employee of the Blackwoods as Tim was and he was not going to start treating Tim like he was above him. 

“Where was he the past five years?” he asked as Tim handed him a towel to dry the glass. 

“Studying in Strasbourg, literature,” there was a not quite so subtle bitterness in Tim’s voice as he continued to speak. “A German poet was residing there at the time and the young Master adored his work. One of the romantics. When they met the poet apparently saw a lot of potential in young Master Blackwood’s own poetry and he offered to help him improve his writing.” 

Jon didn’t need the favour of the Beholding to read Tim’s contempt for the German poet as half heartedly disguised jealousy. If it was simply because of the companionship young Master Blackwood had shared with the German poet or if the source of the flaring jealousy ran deeper Jon couldn’t tell and he didn’t feel the right or need to be privy to that information. 

Still a different curiosity burned within Jon. It was enough to accidentally coat his next question with compulsion. 

“So why didn’t he take the German poet up on this offer?” Jon immediately wished he could take the question back, force the unavoidable pull of compulsion back into his mouth and down his throat, but it was too late. 

“He was going to,” to the untrained ear Tim sounded normal, but Jon automatically detected the melodic hint of trance in Tim’s voice. “But then Lady Blackwood fell ill and he was called home. He is to marry a noble man from Kent before she will pass.” 

There was a moment of tense silence as Tim came out of the trance the Beholding had put him under. As it dawned on him what had just happened anger flashed over his face. Jon couldn’t blame him. 

“I would prefer it if you refrained from using me for your worship while you are here,” Tim said sharply. “It will not satisfy your patron fully anyways.” 

“I must apologize,” Jon quickly lifted his hands apologetically. “I did not mean to compel you.” 

Tim just snorted in disbelief.

“Very reassuring thank you,” he spat and moved towards the door. “Folks around here are not too fond of followers of the Beholding and not all of them are as forgiving as I am. So you better watch yourself.” 

Jon had to bite his tongue. Tim’s reaction was not something he would necessarily call forgiving. But he could understand the other man’s anger.

“Oh,” Tim stopped and turned around, “I would also appreciate it if you didn’t feed on Mart– the young Master Blackwood.” 

Jon didn’t mistake the threat as the polite request it was dressed up as. It was clear that whatever the relationship between Tim and the young Master Blackwood was, Tim was very protective of him.

“I am here to paint, not to worship,” Jon promised and he meant it. He had partaken in a big service before he had left for the island, his patron would be satisfied with Jon’s devotion for weeks. 

“We both know that there is only a thin line between those two,” Tim said bitterly before he vanished into the darkness of the hallway. 

Jon stared at the spot Tim had disappeared from, not even knowing what he would have replied to that. Of course there was a certain element of worship in painting someone, Jon had to look at them, watch them, see them so that he could capture them on a canvas. But the act itself was never intended as a worship. If anything Jon had always seen painting as a way in which the Beholding worshiped humans. But of course Tim couldn’t understand that. 

Jon shook his head and fetched himself a glass of water before he retrieved into his room too. He wondered if Tim would have a less harsh reaction to him if they weren’t serving opposing entities. 

_______

When Jon woke up the next morning his muscles were completely stiff. Despite having slept under several blankets and near the fire, the manor had remained icy throughout the night. Jon let out a groan, he was not willing to leave the little bit of warmth his bed was holding. Reluctantly he pushed out a foot from under the blanket and with a shudder quickly pulled it back. His room was freezing.

There was a sudden knock on the door, followed by Tim’s voice calling him from the other side. “Lady Blackwood expects you in her parlour in 5 minutes.” 

Jon let out a curse and rushed out of bed to get dressed. With shaky hands he hurried into his trousers, put on a black waist coat before slipping into his green coat that was gifted to every painter at the Institute. Despite being fashionable it did little to keep Jon warm as he sprinted down the halls to meet Lady Blackwood. 

The parlour of Lady Blackwood was even more sparsely filled than Jon’s room. There were two chairs, a small table and a shelf half filled with books. It looked rather uninviting and Jon felt himself grow colder as he stepped closer. 

Lady Blackwood was sitting on one of the chairs, her grey eyes, which perfectly matched her hair and wardrobe in colour, wandered Jon up and down. 

“Please, Mr. Sims,” –she said and pointed with her hand towards the other chair– “take a seat.” 

Jon quickly obliged. As he sat down he noticed the thin layer of fog that had started to curl around his ankles. Jon tried not to display his unease at the sight, he had never been fond of the opaque haze. When he looked up from the floor back to Lady Blackwood she almost seemed amused.

“I will confess hiring a watcher for the portrait was not my first choice,” she admitted nonchalantly without any attempt at polite conversation first. Jon raised his eyebrows, torn between feeling surprised and feeling offended. 

“Then why hire me?”he had dealt with unpleasant people before, but Lady Blackwood was something else. Her presence made him antsy. On edge he rubbed the hem of his shirt between his thumb and index finger.

“You may have noticed that I serve the Great Solitude,” she explained and Jon nodded. The fog really had been the last clue he had needed to come to that conclusion. Everything about this island and  _ Manoir Bois Noir  _ screamed loneliness. That and Tim’s comment about people on the island not being fond of followers of the Beholding. 

“Martin is not as devoted a worshiper of the Great Solitude as I am. But he certainly has been touched by it. Enough to make it impossible for him to be captured by anyone without the gift of Seeing.”

“Yes, I can imagine that that would pose a problem,” Jon tried to sound polite. 

“Originally we had hired a young painter from Hilltop Road. Maybe you have heard of her?” Lady Blackwood asked. “Annabelle Cane.” 

While Jon’s pride had not been hurt before when Lady Blackwood had expressed her aversion to having to hire him, by mentioning Annabelle Cane it now was. 

Jon hoped his expression had not turned too sour when he gritted through his teeth, “We have not been acquainted.” 

“A shame, she is quite talented.” 

“If you knew about her being unable to paint the young Master Blackwood though,” Jon ignored Lady Blackwood’s comment, “then why hire her in the first place?”

Lady Blackwood let out an annoyed sigh. 

“There is another problem,” she said. “Martin refuses to sit for a portrait. So hiring a follower of the Weaver seemed like the obvious choice. After all Annabelle got him to sit for her,” Lady Blackwood’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. “ And she did capture him. But without the blessing of the Beholding just unfortunately not on canvas.” 

Jon started to feel sick. What kind of mother would willingly have her child be trapped in the strings of the Weaver? Was it because she served the Great Solitude? But Jon had painted a family portrait for followers of the Great Solitude before. Naomie and Nathaniel Hern had been a lovely couple, warm, open and filled with adoration for each other and their children. Lady Blackwood though was filled with nothing but stinging bitterness. Jon tried not to shiver. 

“As you are not blessed with the kind of persuasion the Weaver bestows onto his servants, you would have to observe Martin in secret and paint him from memory,” Lady Blackwood ripped him out of his thoughts. 

It was definitely an unusual approach, but with the help of his patron Jon saw no difficulty in it. 

“Though I have heard a rumour that the Weaver has touched you too,” Lady Blackwood added and Jon paled. “Which will overall probably give you a better chance to complete this job.” 

“Is that why you reached out to the Magnus Institute?” Jon asked, growing more and more uncomfortable. He was desperate to lead the conversation away from the Weaver and Hilltop Road. He was not going to talk with Lady Blackwood about the Weaver’s touch. 

“Not quite,” the cruel smile was still sitting on Lady Blackwood’s lips as she spoke. “I would have never actually thought about contacting you. However, I am marrying Martin off to Count Lukas. He is acquainted with your Master Jonah Magnus I believe.” 

Jon gave a small nod of confirmation. The Lukas Dynasty was well acquainted with the Magnus Institute, despite their opposing entities. Apparently Mordecai Lukas had quite the eye for art and, if the rumors were to be believed, for Jonah Magnus as well. But Jon never paid much attention to the gossip, having been at the receiving end of it often enough, nor did he care much for the Lukas Dynasty. 

“Usually we would frown upon such an... _ untraditional  _ alliance,” Lady Blackwood continued. “But Count Lukas is in fact one of the most loyal followers to the Great Solitude. His family has been devoted to our God for centuries. Not to mention that he is the direct heir of Mordecai Lukas. Joining the Blackwood and the Lukas line is an honour and an opportunity for both of our bloodlines.”

Her voice beamed with pride and it was the most alive she had been all morning. Sure to say Jon did not care about bloodlines in the slightest. His family had come from a variety of dominations and despite being marked at birth like every other human, each person in Jon’s family was given the choice which patron to worship. After all which devotion could be purer than the one that was chosen by the heart rather than forced by tradition. 

“So Mr Sims,” Lady Blackwood’s eyes were resting heavily on him. Normally Jon didn’t mind being watched at all, but her gaze was incredibly unsettling. “Do you think you are fit for the task?” 

“You want me to observe your son throughout the day,” Jon privately noted the way Lady Blackwood flinched at the word  _ son _ , “and to then paint a portrait of him in secret. I’d like to think myself capable of that.”

“So we have an understanding then?” she asked and reached out her hand for Jon to shake. Jon hesitated.

“What reason did you give him for me being here?” he asked instead. The unpleasant smile finally faded from Lady Blackwood’s lips and she placed her hand back in her lap. 

“He believes you to be his chaperone.”

“His chaperone?” Jon let out a surprised laugh. “Why for the love of all the patrons would you have me pose as his chaperone?” 

“My servant has always had a certain...affinity for Martin,” her voice was filled with harsh mockery. “So as you can imagine he is not happy for Martin to be married off. There is a justified worry that he might try and convince Martin to flee the island with him.” 

“So I am to actually chaperon him?” Pretending to not be a painter and paint the young Master Blackwood in secret was one thing, but Jon had not signed up to babysit. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Lady Blackwood shook her head. “Martin does not have it in him to actually run away and knowing this Timothy will never ask. Still it is a believable lie and Martin won’t suspect a thing.” 

Lady Blackwood reached out her hand again. Morally, Jon was very much opposed to the scheme she was suggesting. But her commission would bring Jon a lot of money. Enough to leave the Institute behind and buy his own little studio. And spending a week on this island suffering through the presence of Lady Blackwood and her son would be worth Jon’s freedom. If her son was anything like her, Jon would be able to do his job easily without feeling too guilty. 

He reached out and shook Lady Blackwood’s hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this please leave kudos/comments and subscribe <3
> 
> Also find me on [tumblr](https://simpingfortimstoker.tumblr.com/)


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